Page 59 of House of Lies

A female guest? Acceptable, I guess. I mean, that’s what I am, right?

But what if it’s an ex-girlfriend? That would be weird.

My heart stalls.

What if they were for my mom?

It’s a massive leap. The note only indicated that she’d planned to meet Ethan at Glenmont Manor the night she disappeared…but what if they had other plans?

What if this was going to be her new home?

She’s definitely not here anymore, though. Because she left him too…or because she threatened to, and he made her stay.

This place is bound to have an attic.

An out-of-the-way shed.

Maybe even a basement.

I never even thought to check the rest of the house for evidence. All I was interested in was Remington’s computer or his phone.

He puts the clothes down on the edge of the bed and gives me a faint smile before pulling the door closed behind him. I stare at the sweats, then at the dress. I should be grateful I have clean clothes to wear, but I’m still creeped out, not knowing who they were originally intended for.

I was supposed to be done today. Now he wants me to stay another day?

Maybe this isn’t all bad.

I still have to search the basement and the attic and figure out how to access Ethan’s emails, phone records, and files.

Maybe the universe is finally cutting me some slack.

Or maybe it’s giving me a little more rope to hang myself with.

Chapter 23

Cassidy

When I emerge from my room, I make sure the door to Ethan’s master suite is closed before hurrying downstairs. I don’t know how long he’ll be busy, so I have to be fast.

I put another load of laundry in the machine, and then detour to the scullery to fetch my bucket of cleaning supplies. If our paths cross, at least I can try to convince him I was doing my job.

I’ll just have to play dumb. After all, he was pretty adamant I shouldn’t clean the basement or the attic. So it’s perfectly logical to assume that’s where he might hide something.

After some poking around, I find the basement entrance at the back of Ethan’s wine cellar, next to the kitchen’s large pantry. I leave my cleaning supplies in the kitchen and take a slow breath before letting myself in through the basement’s wooden door.

I almost climb out of my fucking skin at the creak its hinges make. I tell myself the sound—no matter how atrocious—couldn’t have traveled to the master suite.

What would a therapist say about these delusions I have, I wonder?

Standing at the top of the basement’s pitch black staircase, I feel like the final girl in a horror movie.

I fumble over the wall for a light switch and breathe out a sigh of relief when I find it. A row of fluorescent tubes flicker to life, flooding the basement with a harsh, white light. I squint down at the innocuous collection of junk from my vantage point at the top of the open concrete stairs.

Shit.

I don’t know what I was hoping to find. Mom bound to a chair in the middle of a bloodstained floor?

But it’s just another dead end.

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